*

All those nights two suns running free

– with a clear look at each other

could see how bright her face becomes

​

when the window pane unfolds on fire

spreads out that long-ago afternoon

end over end though the shade

​

is reaching for the sill – a constellation

and still her arms are frozen open

as if this snapshot was trying to breathe twice

​

make you think you are covering her eyes

are in the room alone, holding on to what’s left

letting it flicker, wait for something in the light

​

to move closer together, fit into her mouth

so it can see you as the bed no longer made

as the wall and empty picture frame.

​

​

*

This coffee is still learning, spills

sweetens night after night

the way fireflies flavor their legs

​

then wait for the rippling hum

that’s not a bat – you teach this cup

smoke, emptiness and what it’s like

​

to lean across as come right in

let you sip from the black dress

spreading out as mountainside

​

– with your eyes closed, with honey

you convince this cup to clasp your hand

move it closer to the other

​

though the darkness already smells

from flypaper, from your elbows

holding on to the wooden table.

​

​

*

You start the way this faucet drips

– piece by piece give back

an afternoon no longer moving

​

never know what it would become

or how to turn back – each drop

wants to be the last, arrive alone

​

– it’s the usual sink, reaching down

to find a place in the Earth for you

for the rinds and peels and evening

​

that has no place else to go

– what’s missing is the sun

near trees, on some hillside

​

where it would build another grave

from cornerstones and broken dishes

with nights pressed one against the other.

​

​

​